Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1887-11-10

loves own land we fingered happily for
little time.
A pleasant spot was selected for our
picnic In the shade Of group of willows,
and we found ourselves hungry after the
morning on the river. Luncheon was
nearly over when one of the gentlemen
filled a glass with claret and passed it to
me, proposing some playful, nonsensical
toast. l reached forward to take it from
his hand. Helen, who sat near me, start
ed to rise and accidentally gave my elbow
jog. The broche shawl lay carelessly
across my lap. Alas! the entire contents
of the glass was emptied upon its delicate
white center. Gazing in CONSERVATION
at the crimson stains, Cousin Charity's
cold, displeased face seemed to fit before
my mental vision, plotting out the blue
sky and kindly faces. Had the claret
been hearts blood the cold chill of horror
that crept over me certainly could not
have been much worse.
I stared at the ruined garment hope
lessly. 'Too bad!" cried several sym
pathetic voices; ''your lovely shawl"
1t is not mine, If it we're my own I
should not mind; hut Cousin Charity
what will she say?" I exclaimed, forget
full of everything but this misfortune.
There was moments pause in the gay
talk. When I looked up I found Mr..
Lascelles's eyes fixed on my face with
strange silent gaze. Oh! that look! 1t
expressed volumes: surprise, pain, disap-
pointment, love, and contempt were all
mingled. Then the thought came to me
Of how must appear in his eyes-a teller
of small lies, moral coward, instead of
a true, brave girl, he had believed me. I
felt burning flush creep over my face
and feeling of utter loss and desolation,
as l knew instinctively that the words he
had intended to say to me would now
never be uttered.
He came to my side presently. "Miss
dries. Stains of this kind can often be
eradicated."
Was it my sensitive fancy, or did a
slight sarcasm, deeper meaning, lurk in
his last sentence?
sun to dry.
day knew not.
He did not come near me again, but
that evening told Mrs. Bigelow that he
would take an early train back to the
city, as his plans were somewhat changed;
then he bade them all goodnight and
good-by. His voice was very tender and
kind as he said few formal words of
farewell to me.
For my own part could scarcely speak,
my heart was SO full of pain and despair;
yet there was nothing to be said that
would put matters in truer, better light.
was in a false position and neither so
weak nor deceptive as appeared, yet in
such cases explanations only make mat
tiers worse. So I kept back my grief,
babe him adieu, and cried myself to sleep.
never saw him again. That he mar
ried soon after young lady of very
plain personal appearance but remarka-
bic strength and integrity of character I |
have since been told.
The next day pressed out the wrink-
LED center of the shawl with hot iron,
the stain was scarcely perceptible, and at
the close Of the week returned to High |
bury. [ had lived a lifetime of emotion |
IN that short space of time; something |
bright and beautiful haG gone out of my |
life that would never come again. And |
IN the dull apathy that succeeded I found |
to tell Cousin Charity of the mis-
nap to her shawl.
Greatly to my surprise she took it very
calmly, and few days after, as I was
about to visit some relatives in New
England state, just as the carriage came
up to take me to the depot she brought
down the broche shawl, the little mouse
ike woman, and put it around me again.
'But how shall send it back to you,
Cousin Charity?" asked.
'You can keep it," was her soft-voiced
reply.
When I would have thanked her she
made no reply, but busted herself with
my luncheon basket. What good unos-
tentatious woman, thought; she does a
kind deed SO quietly. Ali these New
England people are very odd and re-
for Mr.. Tolman had just been in
before Cousin Charity had brought the
shawl down and, as he said "Good-
bye"-almost grufly, thought, and with
a long, strange look st me-was OF ere
could say a word.
I did not visit Highbury again for two
years. then mother came east to take me
home with her. Mr.. Tolman died in the
and left the bulk of his enor-
NOUS wealth to build public library in
To cousin in Ohio, relative in the
same degree as myself, be left legacy
of $4,000, and also left the same sum to
J Julian Tilestone, Cousin Charity's only
child. Mother staid day in Highbury
when she came to bring me west. While
was packing up my trunks at Aunt
James preparing for our journey We
were talking of Mr.. Tolman's death. Said |
poor mother: sWhat a help it would
have been, Agnes, if Mr.. Tolman had left
something to you. By the way, what
made you write mo that Cousin Charity |
gave you that shawl? l was speaking of |
it to her when in Highbury and she said
it was never hers at all, but belonged for
merly to Mr.. Tolman's wife. 1t seems
that she had two shawls very much alike.
After her death he kept them for years
and finally gave one, the mate of yours,
to Kate Mileston (the cousin in Ohio to
whom he left the $1O,O00) and handed the
other to Cousin Charity to give to you
for him. He was shy, reserved man,
but very kind hearted"
stopped packing and stood in the
center of the room.
"Why, mother, are you sure? Cousin
Charity never once mentioned Mr.. Toll
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